


The Results of War

by SoSoSaccharine



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Arguing, Death Threats, Dialogue Heavy, Doomsday Aftermath, Dream is in prison and in denial, Emotional Manipulation, Fear, Fear of Death, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Inner Dialogue, Light Angst, Manipulation, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Minor burns, Most of these are just briefly mentioned there isn't any actual violence, Near Death Experiences, Post Doomsday, Prison, Revenge, Self-Reflection, Tags May Change, Tommy comes to visit, he struggles to face himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoSoSaccharine/pseuds/SoSoSaccharine
Summary: And now, he sat here, alone and enclosed in a modest-sized cell. The powerful glow and soothing warmth emitting from the security-wall of lava is something he quickly found comfort in. It felt nice against his skin, in contrast to the otherwise cold and unwelcoming netherite bricks and obsidian blocks. It reminded him a lot of how the sunlight felt on a blazing summer evening. He wondered when the next time he’d get to experience summer would be. He felt so close to the outside world and yet so far out of reach. He wondered which wall faced closest to the outside.In which Dream internally struggles with his first full day in the prison, and receives an unexpected visit from Tommy.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 174





	The Results of War

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first piece :) and special thanks for @_beauty_fer and @cryin_kiwi on Twitter for being so incredibly kind and for motivating me to write and publish this!
> 
> I just created an account as well! Go ahead and follow me on Twitter @SoSoSaccharine, I may not be extremely active, but I'd like to post more little writings there that aren't long enough for AO3 :)

He had to admit. He could have ended up in much worse places. He’d certainly earned that much.

It had been just over twenty-four hours since his most recent exchange with Tommy and Tubbo. A little over a day since he’d been effectively backed into a corner and forced to resign any and all power he had to the crowd of infuriated and vengeful greater SMP citizens who he had, at one point, called his friends. He’s aware enough to recognize when he has been overtaken. Outnumbered. Fighting the inevitable would only end in embarrassment, and while this outcome wasn’t much better, he was determined to at least keep his dignity intact as they ordered him to remove all weaponry and gear he had on him, before escorting him to his new “forever” home. Besides, he had no quarrel with the crowd that loomed over him. His frustration and fight was reserved for Tommy, and Tommy alone. Hell, he hadn't even considered Tubbo a player in this little game of theirs; to him, he was simply a bargaining chip that he could use to bend Tommy to his will. 

He remembers the way they all carried themselves as they led him to the prison, guarded and cautious. They reeked of over-confidence. He wondered if they had always planned to raid him, though judging by their timing and execution of the plan, he was willing to bet it was a last minute call that stemmed from guilt and desperation. Many of them would never be able to live with themselves after allowing Tommy and Tubbo to fight the most powerful being in the SMP _alone._ They knew the young duo would never make it back alive. The other half of them were well aware that they’d stand a better chance at defeating him if they went all together, catching him by surprise. A minute later and they would have had a front-row seat to both Tommy and Tubbo’s final moments alive, watching as their spilled blood pooled around them, meeting in the middle. _How poetic,_ he thinks to himself.

He supposes it’s better this way. That would have been a shameful ending to the story he’s had so much fun composing. 

"Do you think I'm a bad guy, Sam?" He laughs halfheartedly. Sam's grip tightens around his bicep, intent on never letting go. He doesn't answer, instead opting for silence and a blank stare cast ahead of him. Sam had ordered the rest of the citizens to stay at the entrance: "The process is far too complicated for you all to join me. I can assure you, I have this under control." He assured the crowd of onlookers firmly. Dream could see it in their body language. They were afraid of him. Unsure of what he would be capable of doing if he were to break free, and unwilling to find out.

They stand waiting for a platform to appear, Dream now officially weakened to the point where escape would be virtually impossible. Across from him, he can see his cell, waiting for him. 

"It doesn't matter what I think of you, Dream." Sam doesn't dare look at him as he speaks. "You've hurt a lot of people. You've taken away so much, from so many innocent people. People just caught in the crossfire. People just trying to survive." Frustration drips from his voice the longer he speaks, his composure wavering.

Dream shrugs. "There are no innocent people in this war." 

And now, he sat here, alone and enclosed in a modest-sized cell. The powerful glow and soothing warmth emitting from the security-wall of lava is something he quickly found comfort in. It felt nice against his skin, in contrast to the otherwise cold and unwelcoming netherite bricks and obsidian blocks. It reminded him a lot of how the sunlight felt on a blazing summer evening. He wondered when the next time he’d get to experience summer would be. He felt so close to the outside world and yet so far out of reach. He wondered which wall faced closest to the outside. 

He wasn’t sad, per se. ‘Uncomfortable’ would be a much better and more accurate word to describe how he was feeling. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t actively on the move. Always rushing from Point A to Point B. There was always a conflict to mediate between, always a fight to be had. A war to plan from start to finish. A boy to hunt down to the ends of the Earth. This was a change of pace that was, for lack of a better term, undesired. He would make the most of it though. This did not have to be a bad thing. He lacked physical freedom, yes. But no one would ever be able to cage the inner workings of his mind. Sam had been gracious enough to supply him with a chest full of books and quills, enough to last him through months of creative surges, and moments of deafening silence that would demand he write, or face being alone with his own thoughts. A part of him was scared to be alone with his thoughts… to finally face himself. 

So, he finds other ways to keep his mind occupied.

He stares at the clock that's kindly been placed in his cell. He's started to fiddle with it every so often, unable to retract his gaze from the little arrow that would continuously tick around the circle. He would never admit it outloud, but losing track of the time was quite a scary thought to him. He'd heard stories of prisoners going crazy after losing their sense of time. Not knowing whether it was night or day. Not knowing whether you've been imprisoned for a week or a month. It sounded terrifying, being so disoriented. All he had about him anymore was his wits, and he intended to keep it that way. 

He paces back and forth along the edge of the wall, dragging his fingertips across the cool surface. The closer he got to the downpour of lava, the more the bricks would heat up under his touch. He stands, then, so painfully close to the edge of the lava that it physically burns. Every so often, a bubble of heat would burst, sending the tiniest specks of lava to land on his skin, leaving tiny scars behind. He doesn't move. The inviting glow beckons him, calls to him. No, he wasn't depressed, or suicidal. But he'd always cheated death, time and time again. He  _ controlled  _ death. He was a being that no one could ever begin to comprehend. He thinks back to Doomsday, when Tommy called him a monster. Looking at himself now, after being escorted to his cell and laying witness to every single safety measure that prevented him from ever leaving, it was hard to believe that he  _ wasn't _ a monster. What would a person have to do to end up in a place like this? 

Suddenly, he hears the click of a mechanism in the ceiling. His eyes trail over to across the lava, he can just barely make out two figures. The sound of the lava begins to decrease as it's continuous flow is cut off, revealing a deep trench that separates him from the two figures. As the lava finally reaches the floor, his eyes meet with his visitor's;  _ Tommy.  _

Tommy travels slowly but surely over to him, on the same moving platform he had used only a day ago. He watches as he fiddles with his fingers nervously.  _ Seeing all that lava must have shaken him,  _ Dream thinks to himself. 

And finally, when they're on the same side as each other, lava separating them both from the outside world, this prison cell feels a lot more like home. 

"Tommy… welcome, it's good to see you." He speaks. It comes out in a crackle. It's been a while since he's actually spoken out loud. 

"Dream, big man," he nods courteously, "You're looking well."

"I certainly look better than you." He quips. This wasn't a lie. Tommy looks like complete and utter shit from yesterday's fight. The traces of war still linger on his face. He looks exhausted, battered and bruised. He looks older than he really is. He's got bandages running up his forearms, and Band-Aids litter his body as if they're the only things in the world holding him together. Dream wonders if maybe that's true. 

"How are you? I mean- what have you been doing?" Tommy curiously asks instead.

Dream runs his fingers over his belongings. It isn't much; his aforementioned clock, his chest of books. His sink, his writing station, his bed. Ironically, he has a lot more possessions in prison than he did on the outside. 

"Well… I like to watch this clock. Watch as it shifts from day to night. It doesn't beat a real sunset, but I suppose it will have to do for now." He shrugs. He continues to explain the little life he has now inside this room. How he's only fed raw potatoes. How he likes to play chicken with the lava; how long he can withstand the heat before it becomes too overwhelming. How he plans to write, but hasn't found the words to do so yet. 

Suddenly, as he's talking, he sees Tommy from the corner of his eye reach out for the clock, grabbing it and twirling it in his fingers. He smiles- that's also something he does to keep his mind from wandering into unknown territory.

"What if I don't give this back?" Tommy says suddenly, deviously. Dream whips his head around, so fast and so hard you'd think he'd given himself whiplash. He watches Tommy as he dangles it dangerously close to the lava's edge. Dream feels his heart stutter.

"Tommy,  _ please _ don't." He simply says. He doesn't move, he doesn't yell. He just… waits. And Tommy does, soon after, place the clock back on the wall.

"I wouldn't do anything to your stupid clock." He mutters. He wanders over to where his chest of books is kept, he opens it and begins to grab a handful of books. 

"Please don't take my books." It comes out as a demand, though soft in nature.

"I… I'm not. I-" he falters, clearing his throat before starting again. "I was wondering what you were going to write?" 

Dream hadn't really thought about it. "Well… I'm not entirely sure yet. But I've got all the time in the world to figure it out." 

Tommy chuckles lightly before opening one of the books. "Here, I'll give you some writing prompts. Think of it as homework, due when I visit again." Dream perks up at this.

"Visit… Again? You'll be coming back?" He questions, a smile dancing on his lips. Tommy freezes where he stands, his grip on the quill tightening at the question.

"I- no. Only for the books. This is not going to become a routine." He assures, his gaze never leaving the page of the book he'd been writing in. 

Dream squints his eyes before slouching his shoulders. "C'mooon Tommy… Come see me, everyday. Like the good ol' days." He grins.

"Like the  _ good old days? _ " Tommy scoffs. "Is that supposed to be funny?" 

"You enjoyed my company, and you know it." 

"I didn't know any better. You manipulated me." Tommy snaps the book shut, the sound of the thick pages closing against each other echoes, bouncing off the walls. 

"I gave you the company you so desperately desired." Dream argued, a single eyebrow raised.

"You also took it away." 

This is a fact that not even Dream can deny. So he doesn't, instead standing opposite of Tommy, letting the silence settle around them. It's a loud, unwanted silence, but he'll be damned if he's the one to break it. He didn't  _ ask _ for Tommy to come in the first place. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy it… But it was not his job to create casual conversation. A few more minutes pass by before Tommy finally breaks the ever growing tension in the air. 

"Why would I ever want to come visit you again after everything you've put me through?" He questions aloud, his gentle tone wavering.

"Because, Tommy," Dream walks towards him before reaching forward, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder; he stiffens under the touch, "you don't know how to live without me." 

He says it so simply, as if it's a fact that is as clear as day. 

"How long has it been since that first war, Tommy, hm? The one that started this all." He releases his grip on Tommy's shoulder and retreats back to the other side of the room.

"How long has it been since I took your first life in that duel? That was so fun, by the way. I think that's the day I realized how fun it was to see fear etched on your face. Fear that I caused. You-" 

"What are you on about?" Tommy asks sternly, cutting him off, arms folded against his chest.

Dream presses. "You used to be afraid to die. And now, you chase death down on a daily basis, practically asking for it to take you away. Do you ever plan to die? Do you enjoy escaping these close-call encounters, or are you just  _ lucky _ ?" He hears Tommy's breath hitch.

"You… you told me it wasn't my time to die."

"It wasn't. It still isn't. I'm not done with you, yet."

"Well what if I'm done with  _ you _ ?" He spits.

And for a moment, they sit in stunned silence. Tommy's eyes fall to the floor as Dream's stare locks on to him. He struggles to look Dream in the eye.

"If you are, then what are you doing here." He asks coolly. 

The lava gurgles loudly as he waits for an answer.

"What were you expecting to get from me?" Dream takes a step forward. "Hm? Answers to why? Revenge? Closure?" 

Another step forward.

"I could  _ kill _ you right now. Your health is so low right now, I know…" he roughly pushes him towards the lava, and Tommy stumbles backwards. Stray hairs on the top of his head become singed as they skim the surface of the lava. Tommy gasps as he feels a fist grasp tightly at his shirt. The only thing keeping him alive.

"But like I said," Dream sneers, cloth bunched between his fingers. He lowers his voice to a whisper, " _ I'm not done with you yet. And I refuse to give you the death you so desperately seem to crave. _ " he says before swiftly pulling him forward from the lava and shoving him away.

"F-fuck you." Tommy sputters as his back hits the wall, "You're a fucking psychopath." 

"I wouldn't go that far." Dream huffs. He'd learned long ago to let insults such as that just roll off his back. To not allow them to get under his skin. Because when you allow a person to hurt you with something as simple as  _ words, _ then you truly are weak. And he can't afford to have any weaknesses. Not now, not ever. 

Tommy brushes himself off, smoothing out the creases in his shirt.

"You know what, Dream? You want to know why I came here?" Tommy asks, clenching his fists.

"Enlighten me." Dream waves, signaling for him to continue.

"I came here today, with the intention of hurting you, in the same way you hurt me." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'd actually come with TNT. Sam made me leave it behind of course…"

Dream doesn't interrupt. He waits patiently for Tommy to continue.

"I wanted to destroy your things. Anything you could possibly have. I was hoping maybe you'd beg for me to stop. Thought I'd maybe see you cry. I wanted to make a mockery of you" He chuckles lightly. "But now, actually being here, face-to-face, seeing you so powerless… It's made me realize something."

"And what would that be?" Dream sighs.

"I feel sorry for you." Tommy announces. This time, he takes a confident step towards Dream. "Because when I'm done here, I get to go home. I get to go outside, and breathe in the chilled, crispy air. I’ll take such a deep breath that it  _ burns _ , just to spite you. And I'll get to go into town, and be greeted with humor by everyone I encounter. Even when I’m an asshole, they’ll laugh with me. And I'll get to visit my best friend, and I get to help him build the vision of the future he sees. A future that doesn't include you." 

He takes another long stride towards Dream, "And you? You will be here, alone. And miserable. And you will be forced to sit here, day in and day out, silently wondering when your next visitor will come. Asking yourself how badly you fucked up. Wondering if anyone still cares, because as much as you say you have nothing to be attached to, we both know that just isn't true." Tommy jabs a slender finger into Dream's chest. Dream's composure slightly crumbles. It's nothing he can't manage, quickly pulling himself together. 

"Dream, tell me.  _ Who do you miss the most? _ " Tommy hisses. Dream feels his stomach drop, a frown daring to form on his lips. 

He reflects briefly on how disappointed Sapnap had looked as they walked side by side to the prison. How he struggled to even  _ look _ at him anymore. It had been a while since they last spoke, best friend-to-best friend. Dream couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to Sapnap as anyone other than a soldier. A guard. A knight. When was the last time they'd had a conversation that wasn't about work?  _ What’s done is done, I suppose,  _ Dream thinks solemnly to himself. He’d reasoned with himself time and time again that he was making the right decision in cutting him off. Argued with himself that in the end, Sapnap would understand. This time was no different. It really,  _ really  _ wasn’t _.  _ Tommy’s little temper tantrum wouldn’t change that. 

“Don’t tell me… do you miss  _ George? _ ” Tommy squints, tearing Dream away from his train of thought. And he knows he’s teasing him, but he can’t help but feel a little down anyway. When was the last time he even  _ saw  _ George? It’s been a long fucking time. Not since the night he recognized El Rapids as an independent nation. They hadn’t been on good terms ever since he revoked his role as king.  _ “Just say you hate me.”  _ He recalls George saying, bitterness laced in his words. He didn’t, that much was still true, even after everything.  _ “You think you know me so well.”  _ His best friend had murmured. “ _ Yeah, I do.” he replied.  _ He wasn’t sure if he did anymore. Those were some of the last words they’d exchanged before they drifted apart.. He wondered if his best friend would even recognize him anymore.  _ Would he still know me? _ He asks himself. 

“What’s the matter, Dream?” Tommy questions, breaking the quietness that has set within the room. “Have I struck a nerve?”

“Tommy, I think it’s time for you to go.” Dream says coldly, before calling for Sam to escort him away and out of the prison, much to Tommy’s dismay.

“I hope the price you had to pay for control was worth it.” Tommy spits. Dream doesn’t look back as he’s led away.

When alone, he finds the air to be a lot thicker than before Tommy had arrived. It felt harder to breathe. Harder to move, as if the air had him pinned where he stood. Outside of the prison, he’d always been the one in control. People listened to him, although begrudgingly. People would help him, for a small fee. You can make a person do anything if they’re scared enough. He held all the cards in his hand, and whether people actually  _ liked _ him or not was just a minor, insignificant detail.  _ I regret nothing _ , he decides. Still, a small part of him can’t help but wonder…  _ would the results be worth the fallout?  _

_ Will I ever see my friends again? _

_ Would they take me back? _

_ If I were to look, would I even recognize myself? _

Dream thanks the heavens above that there are no mirrors in this cell, he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to his final question.

The questions don’t stop. He slowly spirals. 

He supposes now is as good a time as any to start writing. 

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely @cryin_kiwi on Twitter made this amazing art directly based off this fic! Go give it some love <3
> 
> https://twitter.com/cryin_kiwi/status/1353389170912358402?s=20


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